


The Essence of Valentine's Day

by Everlind, namae_nashi (Valshenne)



Series: Ever After verse [10]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, sickingly sugary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valshenne/pseuds/namae_nashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fourteenth of February is Valentine's day. But it is also Ohtori's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

There's a thump and clatter as Shishido shoulders open the door, spilling into the hallway with his arms full. Ohtori is waiting for him, having been alerted by the roar of the engine. He relieves Shishido of his motorcycle helmet and the bag of groceries before he succeeds in breaking a leg, or worse, his neck.

"Thanks," Shishido says, kicking the door closed behind him.

Ohtori peers into the grocery bag. Arches an eyebrow.

"What?" Shishido demands, dropping his rucksack carelessly to the ground. It strains at the seams, which give a worrying creak at the impact.

He digs out a packet of mint gum and then a bag of crisps. "You couldn't have gotten something a bit more… nutritious?"

"There's apples in it," Shishido answers.

"I'm making apples for dinner?" Ohtori bounces back. "I think I can handle that."

Shishido hops on one leg, pulls off a shoe, sends it flying. From somewhere in the living room Pancake lets out a yowl. He frowns. "What happened to the leftovers I- Ah. Fuck. It was Yuushi, wasn't it? Goddammit. Hang on." Producing his mobile phone from the pocket of his jeans, Shishido flips it open and calls up a number. Waits for a moment as the dial tone engages. A static crackle of greeting. Shishido yells: "Stop raiding our fridge, you fucker!" and hangs up.

Ohtori winces. "Take-out?" he ventures.

"Yeah," Shishido agrees. "Kawamura?"

Sushi.  _Hmm_.

"I'll call," Ohtori says, grinning, and receives an answering quirk of lips in return.

***

Later that evening finds them both tucked together on the couch, satiated and lazy from too much good food. Shishido is squeezed between the back of the couch and Ohtori's body, fast asleep. His skin is hot and a little damp where Shishido breathes against his collarbone.

The movie on the TV is far from being Ohtori's genre, but he's too lethargic to stretch out his arm and reach for the remote. Plus the fit of their bodies is just perfect right now, the slightest shift might get Shishido's hipbones to dig into his thigh again, or the hard knots of his knees to grind against his own. Shishido's arm is draped over his midsection, slack and lifeless but for the occasional twitch in his fingers as he dreams.

Well into the movie Shishido huffs and stirs, realizes he's fallen asleep on Ohtori again. "Oh, look elves," he slurs, attempting to feign having paid attention so far.

On screen the gremlins go: "Gizmo…  _kaka!_ "

"Uhm," Shishido says.

"Welcome back," Ohtori says, grinning. "It's not  _Lord of the Rings_."

"Gremlins, orcs, elves, same damn difference," Shishido grunts and shifts. His right hipbone pokes into Ohtori's side. "How long was I out?"

"An hour or so," Ohtori tells him and leans up a little to kiss him. Shishido's lips are soft and disoriented, still half-asleep. "Bed?"

Shishido presses into the kiss, nods once.

By the time Shishido has managed to roll off the couch and head for the bathroom to start brushing his teeth, Ohtori is slipping under the sheets, naked. It's become a habit after these years. They have sex nearly every day of the week and both of them are characteristically too lazy to do something as completely pointless as putting their pajamas on again after. Besides, Ohtori likes Shishido completely bare and warm and wonderful against him. So why put them on, for about half an hour tops, to only take them off and ignore them until the day after?

Waste of time.

Shishido footsteps come closer and he appears in the doorway, wearing only boxers. Then he leans against the frame, his fingers restless. Ohtori can see the fingers of his right hand play with the ring on his left, turning it, or slipping it up to the first knuckle.

It's hard to suppress the sudden smirk that threatens to break through.

 _Finally_.

He's been waiting for this.

Too bad for Shishido he can read him so well.

"Saa, Choutarou," Shishido says, his tone obviously forced into casualness.

"Hmm-mm?" Ohtori goes, brimming with glee. No doubt Shishido has stalled so long to ask this, knowing, just  _knowing_  what Ohtori's answer was going to be.

"It's like, er, the first week of the month…"

"Is it?" Ohtori asks, making a show of propping himself on an elbow to fluff up his pillow. Shishido continues to lounge against the doorframe. A muscle near his left eye jumps. "Yes?" he prompts.

"And it is February."

"That's what usually comes after January, I suppose," Ohtori points out.

"Oh you- Fuck,  _alright_ ," Shishido explodes. "Alright, here: what do you want for your birthday? There, happy now? Don't-  _no don't you dare-_ "

"Sex," Ohtori yells, loud and clear over Shishido protests and dissolves into laughter.

"Goddamnit, you little-" Shishido howls and leaps on the bed, grabbing a pillow to throttle Ohtori with.

"Payback! Paaaay-ouch- _BACK!_ "

"You're supposed to be the nice one!" Shishido accuses him, straddling his midriff and pummeling Ohtori hard with the pillow.

"I  _am_  the nice one!" Ohtori laughs, and struggles up to snatch the other end of the pillow. "But this was too easy, I had to. I had to!"

"You're evil!" Shishido says, yanking, and snarls in frustration as Ohtori hangs on. "I mean, I really didn't know what I wanted, not like it's my fault- Dammit, Choutarou, you gave me a dinosaur. How the hell am I supposed to top that?"

"Sex."

"ARGH! Just tell me-"

"Sex. Sex. Sex. Seee-ouch-eeeex!"

"Evil little-"

"Sex!"

Shishido pulls, hard, and Ohtori hangs on, hard. The pillow explodes with a crack of a rip and a burst of feathers. Like firework they bloom open, until there's feathers everywhere, from which Shishido accidentally inhales some and proceeds with choking on them. Ohtori is rubbing his back, wry, as Shishido catches his breath. Feathers drift down like snow all around them. They're everywhere, piled high on the bed, but also as far as to heap up against the wardrobe.

  
  


  
  
by [ **Namae_nashi**](http://namae-nashi.livejournal.com/)

  
  


Eventually Shishido spits out the last feather and glares at him.

Ohtori is sheepish.

"I suppose you could get me a new pillow?" he suggests.

Shishido whacks him over the head. With his hand.

***

"Here's that folder you asked for," Oshitari says.

Ohtori looks at it. "No, it isn't," he answers. "And I didn't ask for one either."

"I know," Oshitari replies and perches his butt against Ohtori desk, casual as you may please. "I just needed an excuse to get out of my office."

Of course.

"Is Ryou going to kill me?" Oshitari asks, vaguely amused and not the least bit repentant. "You made me wait. I was going to starve."

"You had to wait for ten minutes, Oshitari-san," Ohtori points out and saves the document he was working on, before turning fully towards his colleague.

Oshitari shrugs. "It was a case of life and death. I'm too young to die. Think of all the young beautiful ladies who will never get to know the wonder that is me. It would be an outrage."

Chin in his hand, Ohtori just blinks at Oshitari.

"Also, Gakuto can't cook. I was hungry," Oshitari amends, then adds, "sorry."

"What are you here for, Oshitari-san?" Ohtori asks, anxious to get him out of his office again before their manager decides to make his rounds. What Oshitari does (or rather doesn't) behind his desk is his choice, but Ohtori doesn't want to leave a bad impression. And he was kind of hoping for a promotion, soon. He's been working hard.

"It's Valentine's soon," Oshitari says.

Ohtori just looks at him.

"What are the two of you going to do?"

Ohtori keeps staring.

"I see," Oshitari says. "So, what I wanted to ask is where you got Ryou's ring. I'm thinking of getting Gakuto something similar. Do you mind…?"

"Oh," Ohtori goes, not having expected that, and smiles. "It's just around the corner here, really," he tells him, as he writes down the address. "Here."

"Thank you," Oshitari says, returning the smile, and hops off the desk.

The door closes, discreetly. Ohtori feels like he's missing something, but can't quite put his finger on it. After a minute of dissecting the exchange he dismisses it and re-opens his document.

***

Shishido is in the kitchen, talking on the phone when he comes home.

"Tadaima," he mouths.

"-er-yeah, I gotta go, Yuushi. Bye," he hangs up and allows Ohtori to kiss him.

Their mouths meet, soft and clinging, somewhat longer than a quick peck.

"Oshitari-san?" Ohtori asks, surprised, when he pulls back.

Turning towards the rice-cooker, away from Ohtori, Shishido answers, "To apologize."

"Wow," Ohtori says, suitably impressed. "That's a first."

"Hm," Shishido hums, noncommittally. "Feed your cat, will you? She's driving me nuts."

Pancake glowers. She's still angry about the shoe from yesterday. Actually she always glowers, or looks as though she is, because of her squashed face. Ohtori knows he should never have agreed to Shishido's bargain (okay, if you want to keep the damn animal, then fine, but I get to give it a name). That's another something he needs to pay Shishido back for.

After dinner Ohtori watches some TV, while Shishido prepares a class for tomorrow, leafing through a textbook as big as Ohtori's wrist is wide and which details only one certain event in history. As always he starts out in his room, then moves to spread his work out over the dinner table and when that surface is covered, moves to sit on the ground. Before long there's a flood of papers all around the couch, along with some stray feathers the both of them keep finding everywhere. Shishido puts sticky notes between the pages, clacks away on his laptop, runs hands absentmindedly through his hair.

Pancake makes it a point to plant her fat fluffy butt on each paper Shishido is about to reach for. Shishido will poke her off it with his pen and she'll move on to the next.

"Choutarou," Shishido speaks up after a while.

"Yes?"

"What do you want for your birthday?"

"Sex," Ohtori answers.

"Yes, ha ha ha, you got me," Shishido grumbles. "Seriously though."

On the TV commercial after commercial is filled with suggestions for Valentine's day; massages, spas, chocolatiers, perfumes, restaurants. The media milks it. Even during the news at eight there's hearts-shaped decoration dangling discreetly at the edges of the set. Ohtori sighs, annoyed. The TV goes out with static zip. He edges closer so he can watch Shishido work, propping his chin on the arm of the couch.

"Make it not be Valentine's day?" Ohtori asks.

Shishido peers up from where he's pawing through some maps. "Nice one. Thanks. And how am I supposed to do that?"

"I got you a dinosaur," Ohtori points out, enjoying this a little too much.

"Bah," Shishido throws a ball of paper at him. "Besides, you  _had_  to go and be born on Valentine's day, didn't you? Not the thirteenth, not the fifteenth, nope, right smack dab in-between. Valentine's day. Seriously."

Ohtori throws it back, hits Shishido on the crown of the head. "Not like I had much choice," it comes out sourer than he intends to.

"Girls think it's cute," Shishido soothes him. "Not the end of the world, Choutarou, jeez."

"Sure. Of course. It's not  _your_  birthday that concedes with the one day of the year that has hearts and pink and awful love-songs. Remember last year? When my mother-"

A hand slips over his mouth, shushes him. Shishido kisses his forehead. "Yeah, I know. That was pretty lame of her," he murmurs.

Ohtori nods, loops his arms around Shishido and drags him onto the couch. It takes some shifting, limbs knocking and tangling to make room for them both, but Ohtori manages to maneuver himself on top of Shishido, spreading his weight to keep from smothering him. Where his cheek rests on Shishido's chest, there's the steady beat of his heart. With just that to guide him, Ohtori can feel tension he didn't know had him strung up, drain away, until his heart beats the same cadence.

"You don't need to get me anything," Ohtori murmurs, sincere. "Isn't that what you said? No more presents."

Shishido's hand moves from the back of his neck towards his mouth, the pad of his thumb following the curve of Ohtori's lips. He's lying lower than usual to spare Shishido, and he can feel him grow hard and aroused against his solar plexus. Smiling, Ohtori takes the finger between his lips, licks it.

Shishido's breath stutters for a moment, but then he says quite evenly, "Yeah, I did. But only after your birthday, ne? It's not fair that I got to have a party and presents and you nothing. After yours, we're even."

"I don't really want anything," Ohtori replies. "It's a Sunday. I'd rather just sleep in, have sex, stay home, have dinner."

"Your parents will want-"

"I don't." Ohtori says, hard and final. "Not after last year."

Shishido says nothing, just draws his hands in complicated patterns over Ohtori's face, between his shoulder blades.

When Ohtori's anger ebbs, Shishido speaks up, his voice soft, "You usually don't make such a big deal out of it."

"Sorry," he says and hitches himself up higher, to match their hips together. Both of them gasp. "It's only that, well… it's always Valentine's day. Not just my birthday," he tries to explain.

Shishido's eyes are dark and a little hurt.

"Not you," Ohtori tells him quickly. "You're always great with it. It's just the rest of the world. My parents and colleagues and friends. My birthday cards have hearts on them, sometimes."

"I know," Shishido says, and kisses him hard. Hard and deep until Ohtori's lips go soft from arousal, allowing Shishido to curl his tongue warm and wet against his. Hard and sweet until Ohtori forgets anything but the feeling of the person underneath him, who gives him such stability and manages to right all wrongs by just kissing him, until it becomes silly, insignificant, especially compared to the rising tide of the sexual energy between them.

Barely five minutes and Ohtori is on his back, numb with emotion, while Shishido sits on his thighs, unbuckles his belt. He aches with need, his cock painfully hard and trapped at an awkward angle in his pants.

"I'll fix it," Shishido says, tugging the last remains of the clothing down Ohtori's legs.

 

It isn't until after, when they both try to catch their breath, skin slipping together, that Ohtori realizes that Shishido wasn't talking about his erection.

***

While Shishido doesn't bother to make a secret out of it, but he doesn't outright tell Ohtori what he's planning either. Besides, it would be hard to keep it a secret when he needs to ask Ohtori to take a few days off.

"It's me," Shishido says.

"Hey," Ohtori says, smiling into his tea at the rough familiarity of his partner's voice.

"So, did you get the fifteenth and sixteenth off?" he asks.

"Uh-huh, I'm ahead of schedule anyway," Ohtori answers. And he still had to take up some vacation, mostly accumulated by working over-time.

"Good," Shishido says, sounding faintly relieved.

"You already booked it, didn't you?" Ohtori says, laughing. "What if I couldn't get away?"

"I'd have kidnapped you," Shishido says a little too seriously. "I gotta go, Choutarou. Later!"

He hangs up.

Ohtori stares at the receiver for a moment and wonders if he should start being worried about this.

***

The closer the calendar creeps towards towards the fourteenth, the more obnoxious the whole hype becomes. Hearts pop up everywhere, plastering the windows of any shop imaginable, even those which really don't offer any suitable merchandise for the occasion. The menus of restaurants are replaced with fanciful frivolities, and if not that, change the names of even the most common dish to something involving 'love' or 'passion' or 'piquant' or 'tender'.

The television programmation switches out the action-packed movies to romances and after midnight to tasteful porn, on some channels.

Shishido starts to get riled up about the general idiocy that sweeps over his students; the moon-eyed gazing, the notes being passed around, the endless giggling, the skirts that go from knee-length to barely long enough to cover even their buttocks. In retaliation Ohtori witnesses him come up with cruelly difficult pop-quizzes or assignments that would cause even the most work-hardened student to groan.

People around him start talking about how they plan to spend the day, the gifts they plan on buying for their significant others.

Oshitari revels in it. Plan after plan he comes up with (which, for some reason, he feels the need to explain in great detail to Ohtori), each new one more extravagant than the former. One of them is to buy Gakuto a bouquet of as many roses as the times they've had sex. But seeing as they've even been longer together than Shishido and he, the number is so mind-boggling that Oshitari has to concede he can't possibly afford it. Ohtori mostly can't believe Oshitari _counts_  it. Who does that?

He learns from Kabaji that Atobe has bought a star and named it after his wife.

Bought. a. star.

Seriously.

Hiyoshi is the only one who is rather rational. But then he always has been.

"We're leaving Yasuo at my parents'," he tells Ohtori and Kabaji as they grab a quick bite during lunch together. "We're going hiking, away from all the madness."

"Hiking?" Ohtori exclaims, chopsticks raised half-way to his mouth. "It's freezing cold!"

"You get warm when you walk," Hiyoshi says with a shrug. "We just want to spend a quiet day together."

Ohtori nods. Understandable, after having focussed for more than half a year on your newborn son.

"What about you?" Hiyoshi asks Kabaji.

When Kabaji goes bright, bright red, Hiyoshi and he exchange a grin.

"Now you've get to tell us," Ohtori says, teasing him.

Kabaji has been seeing his girlfriend for just about three weeks. He met her at Atobe's New Year's soiree and they got on from the first. She's a former super-model and absolutely beautiful.

"I wrote her a poem," Kabaji admits after some mild pestering.

"Wow," Hiyoshi says, eyebrows rising.

"That's… kind of sweet, actually," Ohtori tells him, rather touched. For all of Kabaji's lack of them vocally, he actually has a way with words on paper. His writing is simple, but pure and fresh because of it.

Kabaji slurps the broth of his noodles and doesn't say a thing.

When Hiyoshi asks him what he plans to do for his birthday, Ohtori feels a sharp surge of gratitude towards him.  _Birthday_ , not Valentine's.

"Honestly? I have no idea," Ohtori admits, feeling his stomach glow warm and surprisingly fluttery. "Ryou's plotting something."

"Oh God," Hiyoshi groans. "Run while you still can."

"His plans aren't all that bad," Ohtori says defensively.

"No, of course not," Hiyoshi says, sarcasm crammed into every single syllable. "There was that thing with the traffic cones-"

"Yes, but-"

"-and that one time with the rice crackers-"

"Sure, that was rather-"

"-not to forget when he locked Jiroh into the girl's bathroom wearing only-"

"Which was entirely-"

"Not to mention the chalk incident-"

"That was mostly Mukahi-senpai-"

"-after which he came up with that glue and popcorn thing-"

"… alright, that was kind of extreme," Ohtori admits, wincing at the mere memory of it.

"Choutarou," Hiyoshi says, exasperated. "He always operates on extremes. There's no middle ground for Shishido."

Ohtori thinks about this, meeting Hiyoshi and Kabaji's silent and frankly worried gazes and realizes that, yes, he  _should_  be worried.

Oh shit.

***

As he's toeing off his shoes, Ohtori resolves that he  _will_  corner Shishido and wrangle the secret from him, before mayhem happens.

Thing is, Shishido doesn't hear him coming in. He's on the phone in the kitchen and Ohtori intents to sneak up and startle him. Right up until he catches a snippet from the voice on the other side of the connection.

It's his father. He'd know that tone, that attitude, no matter where and when. Even if it is filtered thinly through the receiver of a phone he isn't even holding.

His hearts stops.

Shishido leans hipshot against the counter, expression vacant. "Yes, I understand," he says, as though he's had to say it a hundred times already. "But he needs to take up those days anyway, what better time than his birthday?" That, too, sounds as though it is an argument he's repeated a hundred times.

"Yes, yes, I understand," Shishido says, "but Choutarou is perfectly capable of deciding that for himself."

The nasal natter increases, almost loud that Ohtori can actually understand what his father is nearly yelling at Shishido.

"Of course. I understand," Shishido answers. "But believe me when I say that there's nothing I could do to force him. Your son is perfectly capable of defending himself."

The tone changes, goes low and dangerous.

Shishido starts to frown. "He's turning twenty-four, Choutarou's hardly a child. Besides if he wants to celebrate his birthday with his parents, he's free to do so."

More low jabbering, sharper and sharper as the explanation goes on. From some of the noises that filter through Ohtori knows his father is trying to overwhelm Shishido with expensive sounding lexicon.

"I know it is on Valentine's day-"

The voice of his father starts to thunder from the receiver.

"-I just want to-" Shishido tries, but is drowned out.

Shishido begins, to Ohtori's puzzlement, to rummage in a cupboard. He takes out the bag of crisps he bought last week.

"Yes, I understand," Shishido repeats, but now his voice is flat and empty. The packet is pressed against the phone, but not opened. "Oh, wait, oh hell, I think the signal is going-" he starts to mangle to packet between his hands. "Ohtori-san? Can you hear me?" he exclaims, feigning confusion, "Ohtori-san?" More crumpling. "Can you hear-" and then he hangs up.

Shishido glares at the phone, before tossing it tiredly onto the table with a great sigh.

"Resourceful," Ohtori says, stepping into the kitchen.

Shishido jumps about a mile and bangs his elbow into a cabinet.

"Ow fuck," he groans. Blood wells up where the skin is burst. "Er, I, uh."

Plucking some tissues from a box on the counter, Ohtori presses it against the cut. The white bleeds into red, brighter than the horror movies always make the color out to be.

Shishido is close to him, hair tickling Ohtori's neck. His cheeks are flushed.

"I don't suppose you'll believe me when I say it was a salesman?" he asks, trying to make light of the situation.

Dabbing away some more blood, Ohtori tugs him closer with his free-hand, hugging him. "How long has this been going on?"

Shishido rests against him, pries at his tie. "Now and then. Depends on the situation."

Closing his eyes, Ohtori swallows agains the sudden crop of emotion swelling in his throat. "Ryou."

"Don't," Shishido says, voice gentle but backed up with steel. "I can deal. It doesn't matter."

"It  _does_  matter-" Ohtori explodes, irrationally unsettled.

Before he can get any further than that, Shishido crushes their mouths brutally together. It's full of determination and pain and love. "It's worth it," Shishido growls, low, eyes boring into Ohtori's until his knees go weak. "This is worth it."

Ohtori looks at him, frightened for something he can't even begin to comprehend, fear that evaporates when Shishido, still kissing him, eyes wide open, whispers against his lips, "Trust me."

And he always has.

"I do," he answers, because the world ceases to exist, pales to nothing when Shishido looks at him like that.

"I know," Shishido murmurs and kisses him more carefully. "Alright?"

"Alright."

And it is.

***

The cards start to arrive on Friday. Out of five, one of them is Valentine themed. From an aunt, no less. Ohtori tries not to let it bother him, but it stings a little anyway. Why is it so difficult to just get him a normal birthday card? Part of him understands why they all think it 'cute' that he's born on Valentine's, but he's twenty-four (in two day's time) and a man, so isn't it sort of a given that he'd rather  _not_  see hearts and angels on his cards? For a second he deliberates 'accidentally' tossing it away with rest of the paper and carton waste. Then he feels guilty for being so ungrateful and he tacks it onto the board with the rest.

Shishido comes home lugging a bag full of chocolate over his shoulder.

"Even though I'm their goddamn teacher," he says, dumping the haul on the table.

"More than last year," Ohtori says, amazed that the girls still haven't taken a hint what with the volley of horrific tests and assignments. Not to mention that Shishido always has been a very stern, and on some occasions, terrifying teacher in the first place.

"At least they're smart enough not to sign it," Shishido mutters as he digs around in a pocket of his sweater. "Here, from my family and Jiroh," he gives him two cards.

Both of them are birthday cards.

 

Jiroh's says:

Happy Birthday Choutarou ^_^

You should come over sometime next week, Bunta will bake a cake for you! Drool-free, I promise!

I hope you have a nice party!

It's signed with his name, and Marui's.

 

The other, from Shishido's family says:

Happy 24th Choutarou!

I hope you have a wonderful vacation, just relax and enjoy yourself. Make sure Ryou packs a suit!

Our best wishes and love,

Again, signed with their names.

 

"Where  _are_  we going?" Ohtori asks out loud, starting to smile.

Shishido peeks over his arm. "Aw, hell, way to go and give everything away, okaa-san," he grumbles to himself.

"Do you even still have a suit?" Ohtori says, remembering with a surge of arousal the last time he saw Shishido wear a suit. Actually he mostly remembers taking it off from him, every single article but for his tie. The memory alone is enough to make his blood run like fire. This whole 'trip' is going to turn out to be either a very good thing, or a very bad one.

"Somewhere," Shishido responds, clearly annoyed at having been tattled on. "Same one I wore at Atobe's wedding."

Oh dear. Yes, that'd be the one.

"Ryou, where are we going?" Ohtori asks again, following Shishido into the bedroom.

"Disneyland," Shishido deadpans.

Ohtori rolls his eyes, but doesn't press. "Who'll look after Pancake?"

"Aniki will come to feed her in the mornings, Jiroh in the evenings," Shishido says, as he rummages around for another t-shirt. "Don't worry. I've thought of everything."

"Alright," Ohtori allows and sits down on the bed, folding his legs under him. "So you'll be wearing a suit at one point?"

Shishido is in the progress of pulling off his shirt, the fabric a wad around his head and shoulders when he starts to laugh. It's rather comical, the way he stands there with his torso bared, arms helpless above his head, laughing. Then he nearly walks into the bed, so Ohtori gets up to free him. When he lets it drop to the ground, Shishido is grinning, shaking his head a little. Arms sling low around Ohtori's waist, pull him closer.

"Trust you to focus on that," Shishido chuckles, warm and low against his chest. "Do you remember-"

Ohtori claps a hand over his mouth. Against his palm, Shishido's lips quirk into a smug curve.

Of course he remembers. He doesn't think he's ever gone as berserk from pent-up want and sheer frustration as he had then. It had been terrible. Shishido's teasing, no,  _tormenting_ , when he realized what kind of effect the suit had on Ohtori, and really mind-blowing after, when he finally got to shove Shishido up against a wall. It had been rough, hard, leaving them both with bruises. Shishido had been so damned pleased with himself for making Ohtori snap like that. In public, no less. On Atobe's wedding party. Because they hadn't even made it home.

His cheeks start to burn, embarrassed, even though nobody ever found out. "You're not going to-"

Shishido smirks, rather evilly. "Hah, look at you, blushing," he scoffs. "Hypocrite. I bet you can't wait."

And isn't that the truth?

***

The fourteenth doesn't dawn sweet and soft and warm. There's no lips kissing him awake, or a hand over his cock, coaxing it to life. Nor is there the simple beauty of curling up against his boyfriend, feeling for the line of his body and then drawing them closer together, their skin one long unbroken line.

None of that.

Ohtori wakes up because the light switch is flicked on mercilessly, flooding the dark room with harsh light. Which is an awful manner to wake up from all by itself, but Ohtori's inner clock lets him know he hasn't nearly had enough sleep. Like hunger, the lack of sleep yawns in his torso, fuzzy and itchy.

His watch confirms as much.

Four thirty in the morning.

Ohtori groans.

"Wake up, Choutarou!" Shishido says, poking the back of his head. "If you're not out of bed within ten minutes, I'm pouring cold water over you."

Ohtori groans some more, burrowing deep into the duvet.

Why is it that someone with a fuse as short as Shishido's can be such an incorrigible morning person? Peeping from his warm fortress, he watches Shishido dig around in the wardrobe, making a right mess of all the crisply stacked garments Ohtori spends so much time ironing and folding. The message seems to be: dress warm. Shishido dons a t-shirt that actually  _fits_ , showing the slender cut of his torso, tucks it into his jeans to keep the cold from nipping at any carelessly exposed skin. Then he adds a turtle-neck, baggy and thick, and tops it off with a hoodie that belongs to Ohtori, one that that has wool lining in the hood. Two pairs of socks. Finally he digs up a positively huge woolen scarf; the kind that wraps three or four times around your neck.

"Cold place we're going?" Ohtori asks.

"There'll be snow," Shishido says, walking over to him. He perches on the bed and Ohtori edges closer until he's cupped around the dent where Shishido sits, his face pressed against the rough denim of the jeans. Shishido smiles, touches his hair. "Happy birthday," he murmurs.

"Hm," Ohtori goes. "That's nice. Can I go back to sleep?"

"No."

"You could take all those clothes off again and crawl in with me."

"I suppose," Shishido allows. "And then what?"

"You know what," Ohtori says, looking at him.

Shishido gazes down on him, eyes darkening as they linger on the bare curve of Ohtori's shoulder, the slice of his collarbone. His eyes shine, his lips quirk into a smile. It's the familiar fierce gentleness that usually suggests Ohtori will be moaning and begging and coming hard enough to make the world fade white before he'll know it. Which is only confirmed when Shishido's hand slips up towards the edge of the duvet, and then under. Ohtori's body is humming, lazy and aroused, aching to feel that touch on him.

Shishido does.

He splays his hand wide, palm pressing flush against Ohtori's belly.

His hand is  _freezing_  cold.

Ohtori yelps, lurches away from it, and topples out of bed.

Groaning, he lies in ridiculous tumble on the ground, his legs on the bed still, the rest of him hanging out of it crooked, tangled with the duvet. The bed creaks as Shishido crawls across it. His face appears above him.

"Alright?"

Ohtori glares at him. Which makes Shishido smirk.

"Get dressed," he says, "It's a long drive."

Approximately half an hour later Ohtori is, while not exactly ready to go, dressed. Shishido has loaded up the car, having taken a rather logical approach to stacking the bags, cooling boxes and random junk he's decided to take with, instead of just dumping it randomly as he usually does. Even their suits, pressed and zipped up in their protective bags, are laid out carefully to avoid creases.

"Where  _are_  we going?" Ohtori asks, seeing the amount of food Shishido's packed.

"You'll see," Shishido answers vaguely, bend over into the car as he rummages around.

Ohtori puts a hand on the small of his back.

There's a grunt. Shishido straightens up and moves a little closer into the circle of his arms, tiptoes. It's early enough for them to do this in the middle of the street. It's still dark, a Sunday and Valentine's day, so nobody in their right mind would be up and about at five in the morning. Unless your name is Shishido Ryou and you're kidnapping your best-friend-come-lover to have your wicked way with him God knows where.

The whole 'kidnapping' theme is only underscored when Shishido mutters indistinctly into their kiss, "Leave your mobile home."

Ohtori knows he should be worried.

But he isn't.

Alright, it might have something to do with how Shishido smells and feels, pressed up against him like that, because it is difficult to be worried when the only thing he can think about is how he might try to convince Shishido to have sex in the car. And why not, it's one of the few places they haven't, erm, christened yet.

Mid-kiss, Ohtori has to yawn.

Shishido rolls his eyes, "Right. Maybe next time you won't insist on having sex at two in the morning, even though I told you we'd be getting up early."

"I wasn't insisting," Ohtori exclaims, indignant.

There's a pointed glance at his crotch. "Of course not," he says rather sarcastically. "I'm sure that that was a flashlight poking me in the leg. Or the handle of a tennis racket. Anyway, why don't you lie down in the backseat, get some rest."

"Wait," Ohtori manages, suppressing a wave of unease. " _You_ 're driving?"

Demonstratively, Shishido twirls the car keys around his index finger. "I am. Problem?"

 _Uh, yes._  Ohtori doesn't say this, though, he just gapes and imitates a fish.

"Deal with it," Shishido says, as he walks over to the right side of the car. "You haven't got any idea where we're going, how do figure we'd get  _anywhere_  with you driving? Plus, you drive like an old lady. At your pace we'd get there, psst, next Sunday maybe? If we're lucky."

Alright.  _Now_  he's getting worried.

"Ryou-"

"Choutarou," Shishido mimics, "I'm waiting."

"I just-"

This is a phenomenally bad idea. It's an unspoken rule between the two of them: if they have to go anywhere by car,  _together_ , Ohtori drives. The last time they went anywhere with Shishido behind the wheel they'd had such a spectacular fight that Shishido went off in a huff and slept at Jiroh's for a few nights. It's not that Shishido is a bad driver. If anything, he's a better driver than Ohtori is, probably. His reflexes are sharper, quicker, and he's more aware of his surroundings and of the tomfoolery of other mobilists than Ohtori is. Which means that to make up for the lack, Ohtori drives very, very carefully. Shishido drives like he, himself, moves. Sharp and quick and abrupt, confident in his abilities. This leads to Ohtori yelling 'watch out' and 'slow down' and 'careful' and 'do you want to kill us both?' when Shishido drives.

So. Bad, baaaaad idea.

"Ryou," Ohtori says again.

"It'll be fine," Shishido counters. "Choutarou. C'mon. It's me."

Yes. It's him. Like he would ever jeopardize Ohtori's safe-being, risk his safety. Shishido would, without a thought, put himself between any danger and Ohtori.

It's him.

"Alright," Ohtori whispers. "Let me just get my bag."

***

Ohtori turns out to be lucky.

By the time he wakes up  _hours_  have passed. Besides the crick in his back, he feels rested and good. As an extra, they're driving through the middle of nowhere, it seems, so there's not much Ohtori can worry about, no messed up traffic rules to pay attention to, no other idiots breaking those said rules. There's just trees and fields overgrown with wild grasses and shrubs and the sky overhead, white-blue and endless when he peeks out of the window.

Shishido is sipping from an energizing drink, one of many, judging by the amount of cans piled up around the dashboard.

Despite the slightly dark smudges under his eyes, he is alert and rather cheerful, tapping his index finger on the wheel in time to the beat of the song on the radio. It's rock-music -loud english voices and an overdoses of guitar solos- likely one of those imported CDs of his.

"Good afternoon," he says, seeing Ohtori stir in the rear-view mirror. "There's a gas station in about five miles. I'm making a short stop there. Unless you need to go, or something, you're staying in the car. Don't talk to anyone. Preferably I'd like you to close your eyes."

Ohtori blinks. "What?"

"Just do it," Shishido murmurs. "Please, it's part of the plan."

So Ohtori sits with his eyes closed for about ten minutes when Shishido fills up the car and goes to buy them coffee in the station. Part of him doesn't understand what Shishido is trying to achieve, but he seems so serious he can't help but do as asked.

At about three in the afternoon, when they're moving along pot-holed roads crisscrossing the countryside and steadily climbing up towards a more mountained landscape, Ohtori realizes that Shishido must be dead on his feet. He doesn't seem like it, his eyes are wide and sharp-edged. But when he starts counting, Shishido might've barely caught three, maybe four hours of sleep at most.

He touches his shoulder, the back of his neck. Shishido attention doesn't waver, but the caresses brings a tiny, lop-sided smile to his face.

"Tired?" Ohtori asks.

Shishido chuckles, "I've got a six-pack of energy drinks in me, rest assured, I'm wide awake."

Taking him on his word, Ohtori relaxes and gazes out of the window. The view is nothing short of amazing. It's nature, endlessly stretching on in all directions. Pine forests, planes of tawny grasses waving in the wind, thorny shrubs and birds circling against a backdrop of pale blue. Clean, untouched, but for the poorly kept concrete road they're speeding over. Just the sight of it is enough to ease some tense knots in his shoulders, to make him smile.

Behind the wheel, Shishido barely covers a huge yawn. Ohtori hopes they'll arrive,  _wherever it is_ , soon.


	2. Part 2

They do.

It's a log cabin in the woods. Only it is so big, luxurious and well-kept, it can't very well be referred to as a 'cabin'. Between the trees, Ohtori spots a small tennis court. Atobe's stamp is all over it. It is the kind of place he would consider modest, but at least far, far enough removed from civilization to catch up on some well-deserved privacy.

It's just trees, snow-capped mountains in the distance, the leave-strewn tennis court and them. Ohtori gets out of the car, walks a small distance through a thicket of trees. Clearing the shadowy cover of some tall evergreens, he walks into the sharp afternoon light. The ground at his feet swoops down abruptly, into a valley, which is emerald green and spotted with darker configurations of more pine-forests, on and on and on. In the very distance, there's a small village creeping up against the other side of the valley.

Ohtori stand there, breathing in deeply, and starts to smile.

Back at the cabin, Shishido is unloading the car. More or less. He's moved most of their bags inside and has managed to get a fire going in the hearth.

"Ryou," Ohtori says, "it's amazing. But. Why  _here_?"

Shishido puts down a bag, his lips parting and dark eyes darting around, a little uncomfortably. "Your'e going to think I'm crazy," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Not any more crazy than usual," Ohtori amends and grins at Shishido's snort. "Tell me. Why?"

For quite some time, Shishido gazes out of the bay window, silent. He looks perfectly beautiful, Ohtori thinks. Lean and handsome and his, all his, with his dark hair and dark eyes and his beautiful, big heart.

Into the silence, Shishido shrugs, acting casual. His voice his anything but, however, when he mumbles, "It's just your birthday here."

For a few heartbeats, Ohtori doesn't understand.

And then he does.

No cell phone. Being urged to sleep. Having to keep his eyes closed at the gas station. Shishido only playing CDs in the car, no radio. The seclusion, the purity of this place.

It's the fourteenth. It's Valentine's day.

But here, and all day so far, it's been only his birthday.

_I'll fix it._

Only Shishido could come up with this. Only Shishido would consider going to such extremes. Only Shishido would actually  _go_  to such extremes.

 _Make it not be Valentine's day_  he'd asked.

Which is exactly what Shishido, the extent of his capability, did.

The lump forms in his throat sudden and thick. How is it that Shishido can still do this to him after eight years? And how is it possible that Shishido doesn't even know this, himself, the way he stands there looking sheepish and uncomfortable?

"I'm being lame, aren't I?" Shishido mutters, running a hand through his hair and giving him a wry sort of smile. "I didn't- I freaked you out, didn't I? S'just, I wasn't sure what to- er? Choutarou? Chou- _ack! My ribs!_ You're breaking my ribs! Not so tight!"

Ohtori loosens his hold on him. "Sorry," he whispers. He presses his face into the dark mess of Shishido's hair. "I don't know what to say."

Shoulders shrug. "If this is not what you- We could go back. If. If this is a bad idea. Your father said it was."

The prick of anger tightens his arms around Shishido again, who hisses against his chest. "You don't get it, do you?" he snaps.

For a moment Shishido goes tense, like a coiled spring, and then he bristles, as he always does when he's covering up hurt. "Well, I'm fucking sorry, alri-"

Ohtori doesn't let him get any further than that. He presses his index and middle finger under Shishido's chin, tilting his head back. Shishido's protests are smothered in the kiss, which is Ohtori's mouth sliding parted over his lips, nipping, rubbing soft and slow back and forth, until Shishido's mouth falls open under his. It's just lips, which are parted and warm, clinging and trading light suckles of kisses, lingering and teasing until Shishido has his hands fisted in the front of Ohtori sweater, uses the leverage to haul him closer.

"Ryou," Ohtori breathes, and seals the name with a kiss at the corner of Shishido's mouth.

Shishido sighs. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I couldn't tell what you were thinking."

"I was thinking I'm not talking to my father for a year or five," Ohtori mutters.

They're still embracing. Lights slants in clear and pure through the large windows. The fire in the hearth sets everything aglow; the polished wood of the furniture, the deep red of the couch, the rugs on the floor. Shishido's hair has copper highlights when he turns his head, his eyes are unnaturally bright, like amber, in the very depths. Ohtori swallows, thick and heavy, his heart starting to beat heavier and surer, insistent.

"Oh," Shishido goes. "Don't, just let it go. It doesn't ma- _ngf_."

Ohtori silences him with another kiss. "Lets talk about something else."

Shishido nods gratefully, his fingers winding deeper into his sweater still.

"Do we have to be somewhere soon?" Ohtori asks, as he to looks for the end of the scarf around Shishido's neck.

"At eight," Shishido says. He frowns as Ohtori starts to unwind it. "Choutarou."

"It's my birthday," Ohtori points out. "I told you what I wanted."

For some reason Shishido blushes, just a little. But he leans into Ohtori, too. Most important of all: he lets Ohtori undress him. He does it slowly, taking his time to kiss Shishido thoroughly between each article he takes off. Shishido has always liked kissing, very much so, and they've done a lot of it over the years. It never gets old. He likes the taste of Shishido's mouth, how soft and willing his lips can be, how punishingly hard and edged with teeth the next.

Right away, Ohtori feels it's not the time to all but tear the clothes of Shishido's body and lift him onto the table, or drape him over the arm of the couch.

It's less about actual sex, fucking, and more about touching and feeling.

The scarf goes first and then the borrowed hoodie. With the bulk of those two things gone, Ohtori can feel the slices of his ribs through the rest of the fabric. It's not that he hasn't got muscles, because he does, they move firm under his skin as he moves. Shishido still works out. But the rest of him is all elbows and hips and knees. His spine is actually bumpy, only smoothing inwards into his body at the small of his back. His shoulder-blades are sharp planes, but muscle expands and contracts between them when he moves. Shishido is lean, tough and indestructible.

Ohtori peels the last two shirts off him, lets them fall at their feet.

There's a scar on his right side, whiter than the rest of his skin. It slants in a thin line from the jut of his hipbone, up and back, as long as his index finger. Ohtori remembers Shishido falling out of the tree, high, branches snapping like bones as he smacked into them, before hitting the ground. He remembers the terror strangling his heart and then the utter relief when Shishido stumbled to stand up, the stupid orange he was hunting for triumphantly clutched in his right hand.

Shishido shivers when Ohtori sinks down to put his mouth there, kissing the white line, before burying his face against Shishido's stomach. His hands work on removing the rest of their clothing.

Shishido yields, completely. He lets Ohtori pull him down to floor, in front of the hearth, lets him lie him down on the discarded pile of their clothing. The fire is warm and the living flicker of it makes shadows dance on their bodies. Shishido's eyes are slanted with exhaustion and he keeps pulling Ohtori closer and closer, hugging their chests together, tucking his face against the curve of his neck.

"Alright?" Ohtori asks, burying his hands in the soft brush of hair, kneading and finger-combing.

"Never better," Shishido murmurs. Knuckles caress his cheek, before his hand curls down firmer to tug Ohtori in for another kiss.

He can tell Shishido is tired, sleepy. But that is not to say he's not into it as much as Ohtori is. Legs wind around him and Shishido's other hand -the one not tracing every dip and curve of his face- is rubbing in lazy paths up and down his spine. There's an answering hardness against his own and his partner's eyes burn.

Ohtori feels every nerve in his body sing, is aware of each millimeter of skin against his. Their lips are rubbing together, open and barely touching, when Ohtori flexes down into him. Swallowing the noise Shishido makes, a gritty 'yes', Ohtori flexes again, softly, teasingly. This time he gasps, head canting back, eyelids fluttering shut.

"Choutarou," he breathes.

The fire keeps them warm when he pulls back to slide down a little, so he can fit his mouth to the tendons in Shishido's neck. Hands wander over his shoulders, fingers tangle at the hair in the nape his neck.

"Choutarou," he breathes again.

Mouth on Shishido's shoulder, Ohtori lets his hands roam free. The skin under his palms is amazingly soft and smooth, but for those few silvery scars. It is not so bad on his body, but Shishido's knees and knuckles are a different matter. There's no bandaid over his eyebrow now and the slant of it is disrupted at the corner: a little gap in the dark hairs.

At Shishido's collarbone, he finds a dark bruise he put there not even twenty-four hours ago, made by the suck of his mouth. Covering it again, he draws it between his teeth and worries it gently. Shishido's breathing is heavy, deep, with the barest hint of voice in it. It hitches when Ohtori bites him and it stutters to a complete stop when he drops his mouth lower, over his nipple. His body arches up a little, into the curve of Ohtori's own.

Only when Ohtori moves even lower, to his belly, does he start to breath properly again. The trails of saliva Ohtori leaves on Shishido's abdomen catch winks of fire, glistening.

Then he slides down the last few inches. Shishido says his name again, nearly voiceless, as Ohtori hovers over his cock, breathing hot and teasing on it. Hands drop down to tangle in his hair. They graze along his scalp at first, but then suddenly fist painfully hard in his hair as Ohtori laves the flat of his tongue over the tip of him, tasting the bitter desire there.

He cups his hands over Shishido's hips, keeps him steady when his spine bows as Ohtori takes him in as far as he'll go. Up through his eyelashes, he can see Shishido's body arch under the act, can see how Shishido bites his lips and squeezes his eyes shut. His skin starts to gleam a little, covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. There's a pink flush across the bridge of his nose and cheeks and it spreads down over his chest, follows the line bisecting his body into two, halting at his naval.

Shishido pries his eyes open, glances down the length of his body to where Ohtori is busy between his legs. Their gazes catch and Shishido goes redder still, not having expected Ohtori to be watching him like that.

Drawing his mouth away in a smooth, slick slide Ohtori pulls away, licks his lips as he crawls up Shishido's body.

Whose face is still tinted pink, his ears too.

As soon as he's braced over Shishido, the latter burrows into him, seeking to fit their bodies together. Legs wrap around him.

Shishido whispers against his jaw, "Choutarou."

He's utterly relaxed and welcoming. It doesn't take Ohtori long to ready him. Their mouths cling and slide with open-mouthed kisses, though occasionally their tongues will curl in one other's mouths. Shishido's chest heaves slowly as he breathes in, his hands dance over Ohtori's body.

"I'm good," he murmurs against Ohtori's mouth. "I'm ready."

Ohtori believes him. His hands drag Shishido closer eagerly, pulling the curve of his behind into the cup of his lap. Answering hands gather Ohtori closer, until they are curled over one other, foreheads resting together.

 _Hold me_ , isn't what Shishido says, though that's more than a little part of it. Instead he murmurs against the shell of Ohtori's ear, "Go slow."

"Tell me what-" Ohtori starts to answer, meaning to add 'you want', but he has to suck in a sudden breath as Shishido moves up against him, making Ohtori slide along the cleft of his behind.

 _Shishido's_  thighs are draped over his, as he kneels between his legs.  _Shishido's_  arms are around him, steading him.  _Shishido's_  mouth is skimming along his, sharing breath and anticipation.  _Shishido's_  eyes stare ruthlessly into his, anchoring Ohtori into reality even as he's sinking into the unbelievable heat of his body.

Shishido.

"Ryou," he gasps as his hips involuntarily buck, sliding himself deeper.

It's like coming home.

They go slow, just the way Shishido asked him to.

It is, strangely enough, not about pleasuring each other so intensely the climax knocks all sense out of them. It's more like a loving embrace having gone sexual. Shishido holds him, pulling him as close as he can, arms wound tight around Ohtori's neck. His own hands are splayed at each side of Shishido's face, thumbs at the corners of those swollen lips, the rest of his fingers ending in dark hair. They look for the connection together, the one that feels as though they're melting into each other, the one that dispels the physical boundaries between them, and then they hold onto it for as long as they can.

Mouths share hot gasps of breath, their gazes sink into each other, their bodies move slow and languid. Shishido murmurs encouragement at him: 'like this', 'feels good', 'deeper' and 'Choutarou', his name like a mantra. Hands hold his buttocks and guide him.

Shishido especially seems more interested in having Ohtori as close and as deep as he can, and then to keep him there. His cock is trapped between their bellies, leaving a sticky cling of wet need between them. Still, his breathing is deep and heavy, a little rough at most. Ohtori makes soft gasping  _ah!s_ , unable to prevent it as he fights down the sharp curl of his orgasm. He's leaning close enough that his cross pools in the hollow at the base of Shishido's neck. One of Shishido's hands moves to tangle with the chain. On his second finger from the left, the silver glint of the ring matches that of the necklace.

They entwine their bodies as snug as they can, the easy surge of their bodies building sweet and calm towards their peak. Ohtori suckles at Shishido's mouth, before licking the crease of his lips good and slow, easing his mouth open. When the lips under his part, Ohtori slides his tongue inside, tastes the familiar cleanness of Shishido's mouth.

It comes as a surprise when Shishido suddenly sobs his name and comes, hard, between them. Ohtori hasn't even touched him. He arches and tightens unbearably good around him, so hard and final that Ohtori is quite literally shoved into his own orgasm, which pools like fiery honey at the base of his spine before releasing into a rush of sweet ecstasy.

Shishido is still shuddering through the aftershocks of his own when Ohtori's higher brain functions come back down from cloud nine.

They lean into each other. With his face pressed against the damp side of Shishido's neck, Ohtori breathes in deeply. He smells nice. Like sex and sweat and just him. Hands smooth his hair back, the first five comb-throughs are regular, but then they falter. Lifting himself up, Ohtori looks down on him. Shishido smiles, touches Ohtori's lips and then has to smother a huge yawn.

Both of them chuckle.

Carefully, Ohtori pulls away, rolls off him.

The fire crackles in the hearth, the glow of it almost unbearably warm. Yet Shishido shivers. Likely this is the exhaustion setting in. Shifting, Ohtori puts Shishido between the fire and his body, keeping him warm. He tucks Shishido's head under his chin, pulls him close.

It takes seven heartbeats (Ohtori counts them) and Shishido is asleep. Lips part in a sleepy sigh against his collarbone, fingers curl, utterly relaxed, where they rest on Ohtori's hip.

Sometimes Ohtori feels like he can't possibly look at Shishido and take another single breath, like now. It's too much. He can't feel so strongly and still function properly.

Often he wonders if it is like this for other couples, as well; this aching love.

He knows Shishido feels the same.

Or they wouldn't have been here.

 

Where it's just his birthday.

***

The sun is setting, leaving only the typical wash of dark shadows creeping in. The little light that remains seems cold and weak. Within the hearth, the fire has costumed most of the logs, leaving embers to glow in a throbbing sort of cadence.

Ohtori has propped himself up on his elbow and leaning is over Shishido. He watches him sleep as lies curled up on his side with his face mushed against Ohtori's chest.

It's  _peaceful_.

Until Shishido wakes up.

The only warning he gets is the tickle of Shishido's eyes opening, lashes brushing his skin. He blinks once, twice and Ohtori wants to say something sweet and thoughtful, is actually opening his mouth to do so, but then Shishido flies up, cracks the top of his head against Ohtori chin. Who bites his tongue.

"Fuck!" Shishido goes, back rigid. "What time is it?"

Ohtori has both hands clapped over his mouth as he sucks down blood.

"Choutarou!" Shishido says, and pokes him. His hair stands on end.

"I bit my tongue," he manages to say. It throbs.

Shishido is scrambling to stand up. He spares Ohtori an arched brow, "How'd you do that?"

"How do you  _think_?" Ohtori grumbles.

It's no use. Shishido's head is as hard (and thick) as a brick, he probably hasn't even felt it. Besides, Shishido is bodily hauling him up, sharp fingers digging into his bicep. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Get in the shower! Ah fuck, it's already six thirty, why didn't you wake me up?"

"What-"

"Have you got any idea what I had to do to get that reservation?" Shishido is going on, shoving Ohtori in front of him towards the bathroom.

"I-"

"I had to ask Atobe a  _favor_ ," Shishido tells him, lip curling in disgust. "I  _owe_  him now.  _That's_  how much I care about you, so get into that goddamned shower and get ready."

It's easier to let Shishido manhandle him into the shower, wait until he races off and then get out again so he can rifle through one of their sill packed bags for soap and towels. Of course, by the time he's found them, Shishido has gotten into the shower before him. So he takes the opportunity to dig up more toiletries, such as their toothbrushes. As he's taking them into the bathroom, Shishido all but falls out of the shower, snatches a towel out of Ohtori's hands and starts drying his hair. But not the rest of his body. His footprints are small puddles trailing through the doorway. For a moment Ohtori deliberates giving chase so he can tackle him and dry him off properly, but Shishido might just throw a tantrum.

Better leave him be.

In the end Ohtori is the one who is dressed and ready to go, despite realizing that the 'favor from Atobe' required formal wear and he had to get into his suit. So he's brushed his teeth, has managed to convince his hair to stop curling up and is closing the last button of his tuxedo when he finds Shishido half-dressed, snarling at his tie.

Ohtori untangles his hands from the fabric, pushes them down and does Shishido's tie for him.

"You're nervous," Ohtori remarks.

"I'm not," Shishido says too quickly. "It's fine. I just don't wanna be late, s'all."

"Hm," Ohtori hums, not believing a single word of it.

Shishido's ears are pink, his scowl is dark.

Ohtori smiles.

Fully dressed, Shishido makes quite a picture. And he's in full regalia, too; tie and waistcoat both present (though for how long is another matter) with the single-breasted jacket casually hanging open. Being the kind that 'cleans up well' is one thing, not to mention that to see him such clothes is always something of a shock. Needless to say, his partner is not exactly the most… fashionable out there. Think over-sized shirts and sweaters and baggy shorts and sneakers that have seen better days. It's a good look for him. But when he's dressed up like this; a picture of black and white, the cut of the suit complimenting his stature, the rather arrogant jut of his jaw above the crisp white collar and black knot of the tie, the way his thighs and legs show in the severe neatness of the trousers, … ahem.

Needless to say it takes all of Ohtori's self-restraint not to throw Shishido down onto the nearest available surface and have his way with him. He doesn't know what it is with him and seeing Shishido wear certain things (such as the suit, or any other sort of uniform, or Ohtori's old regular's jersey, or a yukata, or lingerie… though that last remains a figment of his imagination), but he can't help it.

Shishido sees him looking. He plants a hand in the middle of Ohtori's chest and pushes him back as far as he can without moving from his spot. "Arm's length. No closer," Shishido tells him. When he can't suppress the entreating noise he makes, his partner smirks. "Later," he adds, voice husky.

Alright. He can do this. He can go somewhere and not commit public indecencies even though Shishido is wearing a suit. He can. Really. Honest. Ohtori nods to himself and allows himself one last lingering up-and-down stare. "Ah, your hair," he remarks, eyeing the ever-present chaos of it.

"Unless you have something that'll make it grow as long as it was in middle school, forget it. It's not gonna lie flat all of a sudden," Shishido says, raking his hands through it.

It stands up even more.

"Wait." Ohtori fetches a some hair-wax.

Shishido scrunches up his nose, but he lets Ohtori do it. It's a trick that worked last time as well: Shishido's hair is still a mess, sticking up however it pleases, but with the addition of the hair-wax it looks as though it's  _supposed_  to. Sometimes Taki does have good ideas.

***

This time when Shishido drives, Ohtori doesn't have the sweet oblivion of sleep to get him through it. He tries to sit straight, wanting to keep the trousers as wrinkle free as possible and his cummerbund to keep from shifting around. Instead he has a death-hold on either side of his seat and is biting his already sore tongue to keep from yelling at Shishido to  _slow down_.

It doesn't help that it's dark and that the road Shishido is racing along is narrow, with trees packed together at either side. It doesn't help that as soon as they clear the forest, there's a mind boggling steep incline at their left (Ohtori's side, of course. Joy.) and Shishido still goes through the turns with shrieking tires. It doesn't help that the landscape rises and dips and twists and that there's rocks and stunted shrubbery and snow.

Yes.

That too.

Small light flakes that would be charming under any other circumstances.

But not now.

They drive into a small town. Likely it is the one he saw earlier, located on the other side of valley. There's traffic. Shishido tells him to close his eyes. Ohtori already has them closed. When Shishido pulls up into a beautifully lit lane and parks the car, Ohtori has seen his life flash by behind his eyes more than once.

Shishido has to pry him out of his seat.

"C'mon, we're here," he says, sounding relieved. "With five minutes to spare."

"That's fantastic," he mutters, but the sarcasm is sort of spoiled because his vocal cords are still quivering in terror.

The glove compartment is opened and just as Ohtori wants to open his eyes there's the slick, cool slip of silk over his eyes and Shishido's hands first brushing the sides of his head, and then at the back.

"You're blindfolding me." Ohtori says, instantly and deeply suspicious. "Why?"

Shishido ties the knot rather tightly. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say dinner? I actually meant that I was going to bend you over the car and fuck you right in the middle of this damned backwater village."

"Uhm."

"I was kidding."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed," Shishido clucks his tongue. "Here take my hand. Duck when I tell you to or you're gonna bash your head into something like the last time I blindfolded you."

"And you wonder why I sound suspicious," Ohtori retorts, and quirks a grin at where he thinks Shishido's face to be.

"Cute, Choutarou," Shishido says and carefully helps him out of the car, hand cupped against his skull so he doesn't knock it against the roof of the car.

There's gravel underfoot. It crunches as he follows Shishido's lead. The hand holding his is warm but for the tips of his fingers; the pads splay chilly against his skin. He feels strange, a little as though he's floating, an ethereal connection to his own body only existing because Shishido is holding his hand. Tiny snowflakes dust his cheeks, his lips, but melt instantly against the warm glow of his skin. Snatches of classical music strain through the night air. Ohtori thinks he can hear the clink of cutlery on plates and a soft murmur of conversation. They stop. A door is opened. Warm, heated air blasts him in the face. It smells heavily of good food, but not japanese cuisine. It's buttery and meaty, almost cloying. His mouth waters.

Shishido pulls him inside, "Careful for the step," he says.

He fully expects Shishido to let go of his hand. This does not seem as the kind of place where two men getting caught holding hands might be tolerated.

It isn't.

The host doesn't seem very friendly when he asks whether he can 'be of assistance'. Likely as in escorting them off the premises.

He can hear the bite in Shishido's inflection when he answers, "I have a reservation under Shishido. I believe Atobe-san contacted you about a week ago to make arrangements for me and my friend…?"

Atobe _-san._  Ohtori nearly snorts, but Shishido lands a subtle elbow-jab in his side.

"A-Atobe-san!" the host loses the sneering pretense and there's the sound of pages frantically being turned. "Yes. Of course.  _Of course_. Right this way, please, sir."

As Shishido pulls him along, Ohtori leans down to ask in a hushed whisper, "So. What, exactly, do you owe Atobe?"

"You don't wanna know," Shishido grumbles back. "Not to mention that I think he  _still_  owes me, since I didn't tattle on him way back when."

Which is true. If Shishido hadn't kept the secret then, the two of them would've been ruined.

The general babble of the main dining room dims considerably, until they're left by what seems as just themselves and the fluttering host, until even he trots off to get them drinks.

"Alright," Shishido murmurs and Ohtori feels fingers undoing the knot at the back of his head.

Ohtori has to blink for a moment, but the light is muted, a warm, pleasant glow. They're standing in a private suite, of sorts. There's a table, just for two, elaborately decked out and besides some snatches of music and the glow of candles, they're alone. Most notably of all: it is entirely devoid of Valentine's decoration.

Shishido looks mightily uncomfortable. He's beet-red in the face, tugging at his tie and looks as though he'd rather be  _anywhere_  else but here.

Ohtori stares at Shishido as though he's just grown a pair of pincers. He might as well have. It would have made more sense.

"This," Shishido snaps, still strangling his tie between his fingers. "This is the kinda place you- your. Well. Fuck.  _Egh_ \- champagne?" he asks, voice cracking like a fourteen-year old, when a waiter swoops in.

They sit down, Ohtori carefully, his partner flopping down with a grunt. The flush doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave his face. With graceful care the waiter fills their glasses. Shishido nearly knocks over the exquisite crystal flute as he grabs for it as soon as it is filled up.

The waiter blinks. "Is it… to your liking, sir?"

"Excellent," Shishido grunts, slamming the glass down. It's a small miracle it doesn't fly into a million pieces on impact. "Keep it coming."

Ohtori hides a smile behind his own glass.

As soon as the befuddled waiter is gone, Ohtori bursts out laughing.

"Yeah, fuck you too," Shishido growls and hides his face in his hands. "I'm gonna kill Yuushi. And I'm gonna kill Atobe. And Taki… add Kabaji to the list, too. But I'm gonna kill Yuushi dead first."

Ohtori keeps laughing, until tears are standing in his eyes.

After a moment of scowling, Shishido cracks a rueful little grin, too.

***

It's extraordinary.

The food is divine and the champagne flows. The small hitches consist of Shishido having no clue what cutlery to pick up starting each course and the fact that he keeps grunting in monosyllables to the waiter's questions. To spare him Ohtori takes over, navigates through the endless suggestions the waiter makes, his enquiries whether everything is to their liking. He's better at pronouncing the tongue-tying titles of the courses, which are often in French. The conversation is good, especially after Shishido unwinds enough to joke and the topics wander aimlessly, from trivial details to sharing opinions touching on deeper matters. They talk in the manner of two people who have known each other for more than a decade and yet will never tire of each other.

The only strange little quirk is that Shishido seems to have developed a nervous gesture for this occasion especially: he keeps fiddling with his left breast pocket. Patting it, or fingers dipping between the fabric, or trancing the edges.

Ohtori doesn't point it out. He doesn't want to embarrass Shishido again, not when he smiles at him like that, eyes dark and glittering. As always, that look makes him feel like there is no better place to be in the whole world than right then and there.

He's in love, still, or falling all over again and he keeps reaching over the table for Shishido's hand, who lets him.

As wonderful as the food is and everything, he can't wait until he's got Shishido somewhere  _alone_  alone.

Maybe that is strange, as they've just made love a few hours ago, but what else can he do but go insane when his partner just sits there like that, looking like he does, dressed like he is (in. a. suit!), and staring at Ohtori knowingly, with a flash of that cocky little smirk  _while Ohtori is not allowed to touch him_.

Torture.

Utter, wonderful, torture.

At one point the conversation dwindles to a halt, when they reach an impasse: Ohtori looking at Shishido and nearly besides himself with the desire to take that damned suit off him already, and Shishido looking right back at him, knowing -exactly- what Ohtori is thinking.

Shishido taps his ankle under the table. "One last glass of champagne before we go?" Half-way through his voice breaks a little.

"Ah, no. I've had enough. And you're still on your second glass," he points out.

"I-I've gotta drive," Shishido says. His fingers curl into a fist on the table. "Are you  _sure_  you don't want one last drink?"

"Aa, I'm sure. I've got to have had a whole bottle already," he answers, eying Shishido curiously.

A nod. "Alright. That's- sure. Okay."

The waiter, as if by magic, swoops in again. "Another drink gentlemen? Champagne?" He looks at Shishido.

"Er. No," he mumbles. He looks monumentally awkward and almost disappointed. "No more champagne."

"Oh," the waiter says, clearly startled. "Well, if you'll excuse me, then."

Shishido's mouth makes a funny shape, as though he's holding something back that just burns to be vocalized, but eventually he just levels a lop-sided smirk at Ohtori and says, "Want to go… back?"

Nearly he groans out loud, because he  _knows_  what that means and he can nearly taste Shishido's skin on his tongue just by thinking about it. Instead he settles for nodding vehemently.

"Yeah," Shishido smirks full-out this time as he advances on Ohtori with the blind-fold. "That's what I thought."

***

The car, they both discover, is cramped.

Not that Ohtori is going to let that stop him.

Shishido's suit is an expensive one (he should know, he paid for it), but that doesn't prevent him from nearly tearing a button off the nice black waistcoat.

"Calm down," Shishido says against his mouth. "I'm not going anywhere."

After a deep breath, he proceeds slower, neatly popping the buttons through the holes. Under the fabric, Shishido's body radiates heat. Ohtori's calf is cramping and he's squashed between the dashboard and the edge of the passenger's seat where he's kneeling, Shishido's legs at either side of him. Lips trail away from his mouth, cross over his cheek in a series of dry, lingering kisses, to mouth teasingly at his ear. Fingers tickle the back of neck and then dip into the back of shirt collar, working down until there's a hand splayed between his shoulder-blades. Ohtori shivers and leans closer to hug him. His heart flutters when Shishido looks with lust-glazed eyes at him from under his lashes as Ohtori starts on the shirt-buttons.

Shishido's skin jumps a little when he accidentally tickles his knuckles against it. It glows pale and wholesome under the light of the moon and the stars.

"Warm enough?" Ohtori murmurs as he starts to ease the fabric down his shoulders.

"Warm enough," Shishido echoes and leans forward to slip it off his arms.

The suits becomes a careless, sad wad of clothing mushed into the crook of the seat as Shishido leans back, drawing Ohtori along. His body is hot compared the relative chill persisting in the car, despite the heather whirring next to them.

Ohtori leans in to kiss him, starting by just touching their lips together, but his body seems to have other ideas and his hand steals up Shishido's torso. The pad of his thumb slides over Shishido's nipple, whose mouth falls open, which Ohtori takes with his tongue curling slow and warm against his.

All the fast fury and maddening need they had forsaken earlier now comes back with a vengeance, it seems.

He licks at Shishido's mouth, wetly, and pulls back a little to look at him.

It's one of those moments he'll never forget. The smile is all in Shishido's eyes; tender yet fierce, because his mouth is preoccupied with drawing in sharp pants of air. His hair is a mess, fingercombed by him until it stands on end. Light shines his body white, the long line of it as he reclines against the seat drawing his eyes. The  _car_ -seat, that is, the dark shadowy vehicle a whole different sort of backdrop. Through the window he can see thick flakes of snow drifting down.

Ohtori swallows. "Ryou?"

"I know," Shishido whispers, "s'okay."

Another steadying breath is needed, before Ohtori can properly undo the buttons on the trousers. Shishido sucks in his stomach, ticklish, and then abruptly pushes his hands away.

"You-you're wearing too much clothes," he says, plucking at Ohtori's collar.

Ohtori, rather belatedly, remembers why. "I still need to go and get the lube," he points out.

Shishido groans in frustration. "Fuck, alright. Hurry up!" he all but shoves Ohtori out of the car.

Stumbling and shivering, Ohtori makes for the door of the cabin, fights with getting the keys in the lock. Snow lands in the yawning hole of his shirt-collar, thanks to Shishido's tugging, and he shivers some more. There's enough alcohol in his system that the key and the lock seem to go everywhere, but not together, until by mere chance he hears the click as the bolt slides free.

Inside it is dark and Ohtori goes blindly, not remembering where exactly the light switch was and he bumbles around with the little aid of the moonlight coming through the windows. It must still be somewhere with the pile of clothes they discarded earlier and when Ohtori finally finds the heap he pats through it. Of course the damn thing is hiding, which makes Ohtori let out an uncharacteristically filthy curse, because dammit, Shishido is willing and wonderful, wearing a suit (well, the bottom part of it, at least) and in the car, and where  _is_  that-  _ohthankgod_ there it is.

He hurries back.

 

It is not Ohtori's fault he takes a while.

But neither is it Shishido's fault that he is exhausted.

Midnight has passed by quite some time ago and Shishido has been actively busy for nearly twenty-four hours with barely any sleep. So when Ohtori comes back with the little bottle, shivering in the cold, it is to the sight of Shishido curled up on the passenger's seat, legs tucked in like a child.

He's asleep.

Yes, he's disappointed. Yes, he's frustrated. Yes, he's  _still_  hard and ready. Yes, this might just be something he's been fantasizing about for quite some time. And yes, Shishido is in a suit.

Nonetheless he's smiling when he softly opens the door. Shishido is quite dead to the world, the cold gust of air that cannot be avoided does nothing more than make him mumble and twitch as he curls into a smaller ball still. His heart aches a little when he really thinks about. Shishido was tired earlier already and he's slept a little, alright, but it was on the floor and not nearly long enough to compensate for the lack of it the night before.

"Ryou?" he asks softly.

No response.

When he lays his hand on his skin, he finds it pricked into goose-bumps. As noiselessly as he can, Ohtori shrugs out of his jacket. Gently, he slips an arm behind Shishido and props him up so he can drape the jacket around him. He makes sure he's covered, folds it snug. Then, very carefully and very slowly, he eases his arms around Shishido, one around his shoulders, the other under the back of his knees, and lifts him out. It takes quite some effort, picking him up while being bend over so low, and the person in his grip is lack with sleep to the boot. Nevertheless, that's how he does it, and that's how he carries his boyfriend into the cabin, cradled against his chest and wrapped in the jacket. The only sign of life he gives is the turning of his head as he instinctively leans it against Ohtori's shoulder.

  
  


  
  
by [ **Namae_nashi**](http://namae-nashi.livejournal.com/)

  
  


Shishido sleeps through the snow melting to cold water on his face, sleeps through Ohtori maneuvering him inelegantly through the door. Sleeps through him looking for the bedchamber (they never actually did explore earlier… as they were rather distracted) and even sleeps through Ohtori further undressing him. By the time Ohtori has tucked him in, he hasn't so much as blinked.

Ohtori pulls the sheets up around him, high enough to cover the vulnerable nape of his neck. His hair looks like ink against the white of sheets. Lying curled on his side, mouth slightly parted as he breathes, Shishido looks very young. His lips are dark from being kissed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ohtori looks at the familiar face with a faint smile.

He knows what other people think of Shishido. And most of it is true. He's rude and careless, determined to a fault, hot-heated and somewhat self-centered at times. He's impatient and impulsive and awful at admitting he's wrong. He's proud and arrogant. He can nurse and nurture grudges for ages and hang onto inflicted hurts like a dog with a bone. When he's angry he can be cruel with his words and to make it even worse he  _is_  easily angered.

Shishido is all that.

But he is  _this_ , too.

Ohtori touches his cheek, the merest caress, and Shishido tips his head into it.

Still smiling, his heart light and free in his chest, Ohtori walks back to the car to lock it. This might be the middle of nowhere, but you never know. While he's there, he gathers Shishido's discarded clothes, taking care to smooth them out and drape them neatly over his arm. They still have two days, he might be able to convince Shishido to put on the suit again. Only so that Ohtori can take it off him again in the car, of course. Small chance, but he just might agree.

Back in the cabin, Ohtori manages to get the fire going again and then gathers the pile of clothes from earlier, too. Silently he walks into the bedchamber with the casual clothes, and lays them neatly over a chair.

The suits he does more carefully in the living room, taking care to arrange them neatly on the hanger. As last, he shakes out Shishido's tuxedo jacket, snapping out the heavier folds.

At the sharp movement something flies out of it, falls somewhat further into the room and nearly scatters under the couch. After a blink, Ohtori first arranges the jacket, buttons it up and zips the whole outfit into its bag. Laying that aside, curious, he crouches on the floor and feels under the narrow gap where the thing disappeared into. His fingers encounter a small… something and curl around it. Ohtori pulls it out, stands up to look at it properly.

In the palm of his hands lies a roughly folded square of paper. It's not even an inch wide, maybe even barely half. It has been criss-crossed with tape, until it is a folded piece of paper covered under a semitransparent film of plastic. From what he can see of it, it's simple notebook paper, complete with evenly spaced blue lines to write on.

Ohtori turns it over. Scratches his temple.

It's the sort of thing he'd throw away when found on the ground, a ball of roughened paper and sellotape.

And that's what he moves to do.

"I wouldn't throw that away, if I were you."

Ohtori jumps about a mile and whirls toward the voice.

Shishido stand in the doorway of the bedchamber, wearing a button-up shirt of Ohtori's, only half closed and skewed, the wrong buttons through the wrong holes. It hangs loose on him, baring a wide strip of skin on his chest, only to draw together scrunched under his navel, and in the end barely conceals what it is meant to. Hair on end, eyes heavy and sleepy, Shishido leans against the frame, faking casualness, plays with the ring on his left hand. His legs are as good as completely bare, thighs shifting muscles as he cocks his hip outward.

It is -impossible yet true- even sexier than the suit.

Ohtori swallows audibly.

"Open it," Shishido murmurs, looking down at his fiddling fingers.

That surprises him. "It's a  _present_?" he asks, somewhat dubiously, because he's never seen anything look less as a present than what he's holding now.

"Sorta," Shishido concedes, still not meeting his questioning look.

So Ohtori, after a moment's of hesitation, starts to pick at the tape. It takes absurdly long and he just knows that the sellotape at home will be all gone. Strip after strip of it he tears away, letting it fall at his feet for the moment, because he's genuinely puzzled as to what could possible be in that scummy square of paper. He's half tempted to take the scissors to it, but for Shishido's sake he takes the time to pry it apart the same way it was put together. The paper is lacerated and abused when he tears away the last piece of tape, and feels soft and fuzzy under his fingertips. He unfolds it. Over, and over, and over, he flips it, almost like a joke, like a box in a box in a box, the end result getting smaller as he goes.

Then he gets to the center.

In his shock, he nearly drops it.

Tears sting his eyes, and his heart turns itself over. The stab of pain is excruciating. He stops breathing.

He's holding Shishido's ring.

Shishido is giving it back to him.

Shishido doesn't want him.

"Choutarou?" Shishido says, voice extremely worried, as he pushes away from the doorframe. He walks up to Ohtori with his eyes wide and naked, his mouth moving through a series of insecure shapes. Absolutely terrified.

And with that he gets it.

He's  _not_  holding Shishido's ring.

It's still where he put it almost half a year ago: on the second to the left finger on Shishido Ryou's left hand. But it is one just like it. Perhaps one size smaller. His fingers are longer and more slender than Shishido's, after all, matching the hands he inherited from his grandmother.

It was not Oshitari who wanted the jeweler's address. It was Shishido.

In is hand is one of a set, now, and meant for  _him_.

"I'm sorry," Shishido says suddenly into the silence, looking wretched. "It's. It's strange, right? Don't- I'm so sorry- Choutarou. I'll take it back-"

And he advances on Ohtori with his eyes shining and his brows drawn together. His lips are white.

"I thought, because you gave it to me, that you- You know. And I'm sorry I'm not- I'm not. Not a girl. We can't… well. I just thought," Shishido shuffles in close to him, his hands clenched together over his own left hand. "I'm sorry. Don't- don't cry."

Ohtori feels himself coming out of his daze and closes his hand around the ring before Shishido can take it from his palm. They stare at each other, Shishido as insecure as he's ever seen him and he himself feeling too much to do anything rational about it. His breathing comes unevenly, because Shishido was right: his cheeks are wet. "I thought you were giving it back," he manages at last, voice thick.

"Giving-" Shishido blinks. His eyes are huge, he can see himself reflected in them. "Back? What-"

"Your ring," Ohtori emphasizes. "I thought you were-"

Shishido unclenches the knot of his hands and holds up his left. The band of silver sits where Ohtori saw it barely minutes ago, when he was leaning in the doorway. Ohtori closes his eyes.

"Idiot," Shishido says hoarsely, "you're such a goddamn idiot."

"I know," Ohtori whispers and draws the back of his arm across his cheeks.

A hand pulls it down. Gentle fingers wipe the wetness away instead, thumbs moving in soft strokes, "You…?"

"Yes," Ohtori manages, tears coming even quicker. "Of course."

"Moron," Shishido mumbles. "You're such an idiot."

Ohtori lets Shishido unfold his hand, allows him to take the ring from his palm. The hand that slides the ring on his second finger from the left, on his left hand, is steady. As is his own.

 

That night, when he lies curled around Shishido, he knows that he's gotten somewhere where only few people ever make it.

His tears have dried and there's a ring matching Shishido's on his left ring finger.

Shishido stirs, turns in the circle of his arms, plasters his face against his neck. "You're still the wife, you know," he mumbles indistinctly.

 

He doesn't tell Shishido differently, only tightens his hold on him, presses his lips into dark hair.

  

It is the best Valentine's day of his life, ever.

  
  
  
  


_-fin-_

  
  
  



End file.
